Of Fealty and Contract
by Terrapin Kavalier
Summary: A knight has sworn eternal allegiance to a lord. A mercenary completes mission after mission for different employers. Now that the portentous part is out of the way, this is Kent's story.
1. Chapter 1

Ah, yes, the mandatory disclaimer that isn't really necessary. After all, why would anybody think that a fanfiction writer in such a place owns any rights to the game? Yet to be safe, I do not own any of the characters in Fire Emblem, nor the rights to the game. Heck, I don't even own the rights to the tactician in this story.  
  
Clank! Clank! The sound of metal crashing against metal ringed in Kent's ears as he leaned against the wall of the blacksmith. He wore the corners of his mouth slightly lower than usual, making a barely visible downward crescent that could be best described as a minor scowl. Kent was unhappy; he was reliving the scene a few minutes earlier.  
  
"I'm sorry, but I never let others know the trade," the blacksmith to whom Kent had brought the order for two new shoes for his horse told him.  
  
"But I have no intention of setting up shop," Kent protested to no avail. A minute later, he had found himself being pushed to the door by the apprentice. He had no effort to resist. Here was another secretive tradesman unwilling to let others see him at work. In some ways, he was right in his fear, for Kent was attempting to learn by observation the methods of making shoes for his own horse.  
  
With a sigh, Kent deprived himself of the support of the blacksmith's wall. He walked diagonally across the street to where a man and two horses were waiting. The man's head was pressed near one of the horse's saddle, and his hands were fingering around it. In a moment, he untied the saddle from the back of the horse and sat on the ground, saddle in hand. He continued by taking something out of his pocket. Kent approached this man.  
  
"Are you fixing your saddle again, Sain?" Kent asked the sitting knight. This was one of the possible situations under which Kent would have least liked to see Sain fixing his saddle. Kent, although he didn't like to admit it, was somewhat jealous of this skill of Sain's, thus his eagerness to learn the making of a horseshoe—he was not satisfied with merely being able to shoe the horse, for Sain had that skill as well.  
  
"Uh huh," the green lance did not look up from his work. He did not need to say anything else. Kent knew why Sain was so concerned with his saddle, and he shook his head at the thought of it. "What would the ladies think were I to fall from my steed in battle?" the knight in green had told this to his companion often enough that Kent did not need to hear here. There was a mutual understanding of a sort.  
  
"So, how long are we stuck here?" Sain asked.  
  
"I don't know. An hour at most, the blacksmith had told me."  
  
"Ah, but it won't take nearly that long for me to fix my saddle, and there is no lovely lady in sight!" Sain exclaimed in his usual melodramatic fashion.  
  
The corners of Kent's mouth lifted a bit. He was, at first, surprised that Sain had not accosted any ladies passing in the street while he was in the shop, bargaining with the blacksmith. He had a good look at the surroundings this time. It was the part of the town with the blacksmith, the cooper, the alehouse—in short, the side of town at which ladies are seldom found. The thought of not having to apologize to outraged woman for Sain's behavior was enough to remove the gloom cast over Kent by having his attempt at blacksmith learning thwarted. "It might be a good day after all," Kent thought to himself as he watched Sain at work with his saddle. He was not entirely correct.  
  
"Why do we have to always be in groups of at least two anyway?" Sain complained almost immediately after he had finished strapping his saddle onto his horse.  
  
"Were you not listening when Piter explained it to us?" Kent had repeated that answer several times during their trip to the blacksmith, and he had ample practice for the answer—almost as much as Sain had for complaining, he thought. "We are being stalked by assassins. Piter thought that it would be safer if we traveled in at least twos and watched out for each other rather than wander around Badon by ourselves. Badon is a dangerous town as it is without the possibility of Black Fangs around." Personally, though, Kent thought of the tactician as somewhat of a crack addict, with his alto voice, unorthodox battle tactics, and raving instructions.  
  
"But..."  
  
"Mister, your horseshoes are ready!" a cry from a shrill voice interrupted Sain's protest. Kent never thought he would welcome the sound of the blacksmith's apprentice as he did now. He entered the shop, paid the smith for his horseshoe and nails, and quickly started on the return to camp, where he might be safe from Sain's complaints.  
  
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Kent tied his horse to the post. It didn't take him long to change the shoes on his horse. He was proud that he was faster than that slacker Sain at it. Although he would rather spend his time in practice or scouting, he was still somewhat glad that he could not complete the task with a mere thought. Sain, saying that he could not deprive the lovely ladies of his presence for too long, left a few minutes ago, unable to wait for Kent to finish shoeing his horse, not that the green lance would've wanted to wait for Kent had he the patience. Then again, Kent thought of the apologies he might to make to the women who had been offended by Sain's flirting, and he grimaced. "The things that must be done for morale," Kent often lamented.  
  
It was when Kent was living one of the imagined disasters caused by Sain that she approached. Kent did not hear the footsteps approaching the neighboring post, for he was busy phrasing the apology to Lady Lyndis and a cowering Florina in his mind. He did not hear the expert hands tying the mount. Naturally, he was startled when he heard a female voice next to him.  
  
"Are you Kent? It's nice to meet you," the voice said.  
  
Kent, still mired in his imagination, thought that another angry female has come to complain to him about Sain's behavior. Mechanically, he turned to the direction of the voice and took half a step forward. When he beheld a somewhat surprised but by no means hostile face, hidden slightly on both sides by two long strands of aqua hair, he realized his mistake. His first reaction was to apologize.  
  
"Forgive my rudeness, but who are you?" With his head bowed, Kent said his apology, stiff as always. Yet, he did not like the idea of talking to strangers, but this woman seemed familiar somehow.  
  
"I am Fiora, the pegasus knight. You have been looking after my sister. Allow me to thank you," the woman smiled, a good sign, so Kent thought.  
  
So that was why she seemed familiar. She is Florina's sister. Although her hair was green and straight, and Florina's was a shade of violet and curly, the familial resemblance was definitely there.  
  
"Oh, yes... When we were in Caelin, Florina spoke of you often..." Reflecting on that moment, Kent sometimes regretted not addressing her words of gratitude, yet Kent had always thought that delving on such matters was somewhat bad for the conversation.  
  
"Oh, what did she say?" There was a quality of concern in Fiora's voice. Kent was not sure why she would be so, but he thought it best to lay whatever anxiety Fiora had to rest.  
  
"That you... were a lot like me." That was the best Kent could word it. He did not remember Florina's words well.  
  
"Oh... In what regard?" Curiosity had mingled with concern, yet the latter was still urgent.  
  
Kent did not like making members of the army nervous, but he did not remember. "Well... I'm not really sure... I just remember her saying it. Well, Fiora. It is an honor. Let us fight together and ride on to victory."  
  
"Yes, let's. I think that, together, we can fulfill any duty."  
  
With a mutual bow, the conversation ended. Kent headed away from his destrier, while Fiora continued her work. "Ah, she is dedicated, just like her sister," Kent thought as he departed from the vicinity of the mounts. It felt reassuring to have another such member in the army, a feeling that more than compensated for the new, imagined disasters that Kent had in his head concerning Sain. 


	2. Chapter 2

Thud! Kent's face-to-face meeting with the ground was rather less painful than he expected in that short second, having been broken by the loosely packed sand under his ventral side. He attempted to stand up quickly, but it was at first foiled by the rapid sinking of his hands into the sand when he tried to push himself against the ground. The muscles in his back strained without the support of his hands, but he managed to get himself into an erect position, though he was still kneeling. Carefully, first moving one leg, he slowly returned to a standing position. Kent noted with dismay that he was ankle deep in sand, though he was relieved that he was not sinking further. He stopped only to allow himself a brief sigh of relief and brushed a few pellets of sand out of his eye before he turned to his trusty steed, which threw him out of the saddle a few moments ago. Kent was not happy with what he saw.  
  
His destrier, being more quintuple his weight, yet having slightly less than twice the surface area, was in an awkward position. Its front legs, having reached the sandy portion of the desert, sank knee deep into the loosely packed sand. The hind legs, resting uncomfortably in the dying belt—populated by a few stout grass—that marked the abrupt end of the oasis in which the army was resting and the beginning of the wasteland, was almost entirely above the surface. From the posture of his mount, Kent surmised that the abrupt decline of the anterior portions of the beast was the cause for his meeting with the desert of Nabata.  
  
"Heheheh." An amused laugh resembling more a scoff than a laugh interrupted Kent's examination of his steed's plight. The sound recalled in Kent the first time he heard it, with the reverberations of the stone hallways, accompanied by the moaning of dying brigands around him and the clash of iron between Sain's sword and the brigand's axe. Now, the same laugh is distorted by the desert heat, arriving at Kent's ears as a muffled echo rather than the clear tone heard more than a year ago. Kent's face turned a slight shade of red at the thought of his rather disgraceful dismount, just as a year ago, when the same hue occupied his face after his weakened blade broke on the mercenary's sword, and Sain had to run through the swordsman to save him from being cut down.  
  
"Sir Kent," a voice a bit above tenor reached Kent's ears. Although he had heard it plenty of times, Kent always hesitated before reminding himself that it could be none other than a tenor, despite the peculiar timbre that raised the voice closer to that of a contralto rather than the classification with which Kent was comfortable. The paladin turned his body towards the source of the voice. A brown haired man in green robes soon came into his view. It was Piter, their tactician. Kent's face turned a deeper shade of red as he saw the red-haired young man to the tactician's right. There stood Lord Eliwood of Pherae.  
  
"Excellent work ascertaining the quality of the terrain, Sir Kent," Piter broke off the uncomfortable silence with an unexpected praise, though its recipient could not help but notice a hint of sarcasm in his voice.  
  
"Thank you, sir," despite the suspicions, Kent thought words of gratitude were necessary.  
  
"Now then, I want you to take Lord Eliwood and ride to the south," Piter resumed his business voice, which was just a tad more theatrical than his sneer.  
  
"Wherefore, sir?" Kent inquired, seeing that there was not much cause to hurry.  
  
"Florina reported that there was a man fighting the bandits to the south during her flight. I want you to take Lord Eliwood there, along the oasis, and meet with that man," Piter ordered.  
  
"As you command," Kent replied, easing the sunken horse out of the sand and back onto firm ground. "By the way, sir, what of the man we spotted fighting the bandits earlier? To the southwest?"  
  
"I've already dispatched Fiora to rescue him. Sain will be on standby at the edge of the oasis to our north when Fiora arrives. Now go to it, Kent," the tactician ordered.  
  
Kent has managed to lead his steed to Eliwood by this time. He helped the lord get onto the back of his horse, and he mounted, with some difficulty, the saddle. With a quick motion of the foot, the horse was galloping to the south, hooves thudding against the firm earth on which the grass grew.  
  
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"Idiot!" Kent did not need to look up to identify the girl to whom the squealing voice belonged. It was Rebecca, the green haired archer from a remote village in Pherae. Although it was unnecessary, Kent raised his head. Rebecca was normally a cheerful girl who wore a smile at all times. It, Kent suspected, would take a lot to make her raise her voice and use such an insult. What he saw was a surprising sight. Rebecca was running towards the camp in the village, her head bent towards the ground rather than towards the front. In the place where she had been, a young Caelin archer was doubled in pain. Barely audible words escaped from the tenor's throat, though it was not his usual soft voice. It came out as a rasp, broken squeal. "Quite uncharacteristic of a knight in the service of Caelin," Kent thought to himself as he walked towards Wil to lend the archer a hand. "...... You... kicked me... ...in the stomach..." Kent heard these words as he approached the young man curled in a fetal position on the ground, holding his abdomen.  
  
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Dull, crunching sound escaped from beneath Kent as his boots compressed the earth. It resembled the sound of sand being shuffled by his boot as he struggled to lead his horse through the desert, attempting to keep up with the pace set by Lord Pent, but it was more comfortable to Kent's ears. It was the sound of good, solid ground beneath him, one over which his destrier could run without fear of sinking. Kent was heading towards the river for a drink and to wash the blood off his sword. A few bandits were still alive when he brought Lord Eliwood to the hulking giant, the guardian of the desert named Hawkeye. He was proud of killing one more of the cutthroats than Lord Eliwood in that brief skirmish, though it marred his respect for the young lord in no way. It would give him something to do while the lords of Lycia held their conference with Athos, and it may give him some distraction.  
  
It was at the thought of distraction that the incident concerning Wil and Rebecca came to mind. "There is too much mingling between the two sexes," Kent thought to himself. "Such a practice in the army provided unwanted distractions, and we reduce the performance of excellent soldiers such as Wil because we allow them to meet with each other too quickly." Although he was convinced that his conclusion was correct, Kent could not help but doubt it for a moment. That Lord Eliwood, Lord Hector, Lady Lyndis, and Sir Piter all did not object to the integrated army cast a shadow of doubt on Kent's resolution. He decided to seek a second opinion on the matter. Forgetting the bloodstains on his blade, he abruptly turned and headed towards the camp, his head bowed towards the ground as he thought of how to say the words.  
  
It was in this posture that Kent nearly ran into Fiora. His disorientation did not stall a prompt apology over his lack of attention. As Fiora quickly assured him that it was of no consequence, it occurred to Kent that Fiora was just the second opinion he sought on the matter. He wasted as much time as he did delivering his apology in embarking on this new subject.  
  
"Fiora, I must speak to you..." Kent assumed a business like voice.  
  
"Kent, what a coincidence. I was just looking for you..." Fiora's reply was unexpected. Although it was said without any breaks, Fiora seemed out of breath. Her face was flushed, and she was breathing heavily, yet she did not seem to have been running. These Kent attributed to the heat of the desert; an Ilian like Fiora, who grew up in the bitterest cold of Elibe, would naturally be unaccustomed to the heat of Nabata. Still, he wondered why Fiora would be looking for him.  
  
"Actually, it's about this army... Do you ever feel like some here lack proper moral grounding?" Kent's thoughts did not stop him from continuing his subject of interest, though he decided that it was best to delay the subject of mingling of the sexes a bit to let Fiora catch her breath.  
  
"Yes, the same thought has occurred to me. As a hired lance, I thought it not my place to speak," Fiora's reply was an assurance to Kent. Since she thought it improper for her to bring up the subject, Kent decided to stop being circumspect.  
  
"Camaraderie in the field is one thing... But the men and women in the camp are altogether too...intimate..."  
  
"Indeed. Their minds are not focused on their duties..." Fiora seemed to have hesitated a bit. "Choosing the most tactful way to say it," Kent thought. It now occurred to him that Fiora also observed some instance of too liberal an interaction between a male and a female of the army. He thought that the occasion indicated the fight between Wil and Rebecca. The two lacked the discretion to conduct their meeting in private. Quite a few members of the army were present in the clearing, and Fiora could have been among them.  
  
"It is a problem," Kent concluded.  
  
"A problem indeed," it was nearly an echo, so a bystander would have thought.  
  
"I have decided to seek the counsel of Lady Lyndis in this matter," Kent began to reveal the details of his musing, which had caused the near collision with the Pegasus knight moments before. "Perhaps she could issue some order limiting...interactions between the sexes..."  
  
"That is a good idea. It would be the best way to ensure the proper conduct of all," Fiora agreed with a quickness that surprised Kent. "Perhaps she is thinking of Florina's fear of men," Kent thought.  
  
"Of course, we would still have to iron out the details of such an order... I hope you would not mind lending me your assistance..." He was glad to find another who thought in the same way. In truth, he did not know how he would've begun such a request had he been forced to write it himself.  
  
"Oh, but of course. It might be difficult to find time to discuss this on the battlefield. Perhaps later, when we can be alone..." Fiora suggested. For reasons unknown to him at the moment, Kent's breath quickened.  
  
"Yes, of course. I would be truly grateful to have the company of a morally pure individual like yourself..." As soon as this sentence escaped Kent's lips, he mentally chastised himself. That bit was almost like what Sain would have said.  
  
"Indeed. I feel exactly the same," At that moment, Fiora's words were the best comfort to him. The two parted, each heading back in the direction from whence he came. "Perhaps there would be time to clean this sword after all," Kent thought as he walked away. 


	3. Chapter 3

The lines of text in front of Kent's eyes started to take on the characteristics of the flames of the candle by which the paper was illuminated. Kent's head involuntarily drooped as he stared at the large block of black, what he remembered as "Article IX," that he wrote five or so minutes ago. It was a draft for the proposal to increase discipline in the army. He longed to discuss the details with Fiora, but he thought it imprudent to ask for her help on such a night. It was supposed to be a night of rest, in preparation for the journey to Bern, and he did not wish to disturb Fiora. Still, the urgent need suggested by the scene he witnessed just today pressed him, and his enthusiasm would not let him sleep, knowing that he had yet to begin the draft for the proposal. Another minute passed in silence, broken once by Kent's grunt in shifting his position and squinting his eyes. It was no use. He had stared at the page for too long under the dim light of the candle. He needed a break.

Kent got up. The chair creaked with the release of strain that was placed on it. He walked to the window and opened it; it creaked at the hinges. He was immediately assaulted by the cool air, which restored the temporary loss of visual capacity caused by long meditation upon his proposal so late into the night. His eyes wandered towards the sky, at the stars. He saw that the tail of the Whale had reached the hilt of the Sword, and Hanon's Belt was precisely aligned with the point of the Plow. From these astronomical formations, Kent divined that it was a rather late in the night. Having been reluctant to divert his attention away from his duties when he stood guard during the night, Kent had little knowledge of the formation of the stars in relation to the hour, a fact that he sometimes regretted, but to no great degree. His eyes turned east, stopping when the constellations of the Pegasus and the Archer came into view. The head of the Pegasus was turned towards the Archer, facing almost exactly the tip of the arrow, almost as if watching for the right time to zoom out of the way. The poetic possibilities of such a frequent arrangement of two opposing objects escaped Kent as the former formation reminded him of another.

"Fiora," The name escaped Kent's lips in a hushed whisper, almost as if he was afraid that others would hear her name and steal her from him. Yet to come to such a conclusion would be a mistake. The knight was hardly aware that he had uttered the Pegasus knight's name, occupied though he was with thoughts of her. He was recalling the first major skirmish in which he observed her.

_A large bolt, fired from a siege engine, flew past Kent. Though it was far enough that he was in never in any danger, Kent felt the wind generated by the object as it flew. Before he could even turn around, a loud crashing sound was heard as the bolt hit its mark. As Kent finished his turn, he saw the fate of the bolt._

_It lay in two large pieces, broken near the middle, on the ground. Before the bolt was a large figure in orange, clumsily trying to get on his feet. The bolt had found its target in Oswin. It rammed into the Ostian knight, pushing him against the wall—or, rather, as Kent realized after he saw an arm in blue armor holding a shining axe behind Oswin,, into Lord Hector, who, in turn, collided with the wall. To the credit of the smith who forged the formidable Ostian knight's armor, it was not pierced. Instead, the head of the bolt was dented, and the projectile itself was rendered in the state in which Kent saw it. Lord Hector was quite well, as Kent could discern by the loud obscenities emitted from behind Oswin._

_Kent allowed himself neither chuckle nor grin. He turned back towards the gate. The siege engine was placed with the purpose of damage rather than concealment. Kent saw it, along with the archer loading another bolt onto the machine. Kent gave his stallion a spur, and the two charged towards the enemy archer. Kent, sword drawn, was just crossing the boundary of the gate when a shadow swooped over the archer. Shortly, the man, who was just winding the ballista, gave a sharp cry, a javelin buried in his chest. Kent looked above the falling archer to catch a glimpse of white, blue, and aqua. It was the Pegasus knight, Fiora._

Kent's reverie was interrupted by a rather dull clang that came from the hallway outside the door. It was the sound of steel clashing against the stone wall. Without a thought, Kent turned his body towards the source of the sound. In a few seconds, the dull clang was repeated, this time against the wall on the side of the door. A realization dawned on Kent, and he walked to the table, though with no great haste. He took the parchment that was vexing him for the night, rolled it neatly, and placed it in the traveling bag. He then closed the lid on the ink container on the table. During the course of his action, the clanging sound repeated, though at no regular intervals, and it sometimes rang against the far wall, sometimes the near. Kent walked to the door.

Momentarily, a thud came from the door, made by the abrupt contact between steel and the door. Some shuffling sound came from behind the door as whoever owned the piece of armor searched it. Kent opened the door quickly. Just as the barrier was removed, a rather heavy person fell into Kent's arms. He did not need to look down to know that he will find a ruffled mat of brown hair. It was Sain, the green lance, returning from his promised excursion of the night.

"Good evenin', K..." Sain greeted his partner in a gurgled voice, barely coherent.

"You are drunk," Kent said as he helped Sain toward his bed. The smell of wine diffused from Sain as the two walked. From the scent, Kent gathered that it was rather cheap alcohol, watered down so that it barely had the taste of the liquor advertised. Sain must have consumed a prodigious quantity of it in order to reach his current state of stupor. "Have I really stayed up until 5 in the morning?" Kent thought, with a touch of self-reproach at sacrificing his efficiency tomorrow in order to complete the draft of the proposal—their proposal, he would have liked to say. He knew when his partner usually returned from a night in the town.

The two reached Sain's bed. Kent dropped his partner on it without ceremony. Sain began to fumble with the cords that tied together his cuirass, without much success. Eager to save whatever time he had left for sleep, Kent helped Sain. The difficulty lay not within unfastening the cords but brushing away Sain's hands, which continued to reach for the buckles, having received commands from a master who apparently had not realized that someone else was unfastening his armor. As Kent worked, he felt distinctly that something was missing from the attire of his partner. What this something was, he did not know, and it bothered him but little.

Despite Sain's lack of cooperation, the cuirass was unfastened in under a minute. It was to Kent's relief that Sain had enough sense left in him to take off his boots without much difficulty. That task accomplished, the green lance fell on his side, and he was asleep in a moment. Kent placed his partner's cuirass on the ground, and he pulled the blanket over Sain, tilting the other knight's body a bit so that the ventral side faced the bed, though at an angle. Though the green lance was of great constitution, Kent feared his vomiting after the consumption of so much liquor. Having made sure that Sain was in a proper resting position, Kent proceeded to blow out the candle that gave him light during his vigilance.

The room was not quite dark after the stifling of the candle's flame. As Kent returned to his bed under the slight illuminations of the stars outside his window, he realized what was missing from Sain's company.

It was the odor of cheap perfume.

**Author's note:** I prefer to refer to the characters by their occupation rather than the class name, hence the title knight for Sain, Kent, and Oswin.


	4. Chapter 4

Thump! Kent crashed to the ground with a noise softer than would be expected from the dry earth that he trod a moment before. His vision became clearer after he shook his head. The immediate consequence of such was that Kent drew his body upward with a rapidity that would scarcely seem possible for a man who had just suffered a collision as he did. His eyes locked with the cause of his sudden withdrawal. He was uncomfortably close to the face of Lady Lyndis. Kent panicked to stand up, which only resulted in bridging the distance between his Lady and him that he had caused but moments ago.

"Thank you, Kent, but may I get up now?" the Lady Lyndis said in a tone that is much milder than expected of a woman in her position.

"I… I'm sorry," Kent muttered. His incapacity in speech seemingly substituted for his lack of motor coordination a moment before, he successfully removed the obstacle to his Lady—himself.

"That was close. Thank you for watching over me," Lyndis remarked to Kent after she managed to get into a standing position. Kent's flushed face turned in the direction of his Lady's gaze, noting the large bolt that had planted itself in the ground but half a meter away from where they had been lying moments before.

"It is my duty to protect you, milady," Kent replied, his head bowed, out of both respect and memories of the awkward arrangement moments before, while leading her and his horse away from the bolt, escaping the ballista's range.

Lyndis' laughter had not subsided sufficiently to reply to Kent's unusually stiff reply when both were ruffled by a strong gust of wind. Turning in the direction of its origin, they perceived a lavender haired Pegasus knight dismounting her steed. It was Florina, clutching a small sheet of paper rolled into a scroll. Her apparent enthusiasm at seeing Lyn checked by Kent's officious stance, she began to unfold the paper and read from it in such a voice that both had to draw nearer to hear her, the result of which was that her volume diminished further.

"Uh… this is an… from Piter, your humb... tactician," Kent caught these words from Florina's barely audible speech. He though that the penultimate word was "humble," which Florina invested with a degree of meekness expected of the user of the word that he would not expect from their tactician, had he been there to deliver this order. "You are to… draw from the north… edges of the isl…" Florina continued to stammer. "Oswin will take… position and draw fi… Ken… will stay… and wait for enemy fire to cease. Lyn… uh, I mean… Lady Lyndis will join the assault team at the southwest." At this, Lyndis made a face that could best be described as disgust mixed with anticipation, for Lord Hector was sent there when Piter gave them their initial briefing.

"Good luck, Kent," Lyndis shouted to the knight in red as she took off behind Florina; the Pegasus knight had been given the order of both messenger and conveyor. Seeing their departure, Kent faintly remembered her mention that another knight was to join him in the van. "Was it Sain, or was it Lowen?" Kent mused in his mind as he withdrew further to the south. He gave a brief nod to Sir Oswin as the two passed, which was made quite visible due to the tremor the armored knight caused when his feet trod the ground. Kent stopped about a hundred paces—those of his horse, of course—away from his original position and dismounted. He stood to the horse's right, observing Sir Oswin, ready to ride forth at a moment's notice.

Oswin had just begun what to Kent looked like a wild dance—but he knew better, the Ostian knight was doing his best to dodge the bolts—when Kent decided that he should distance himself further from the decoy. He gave a gentle tug to the horse's reins, motioning it to follow him. His head was still turned in the direction of Oswin. Kent had often wondered how the Ostian knights could turn with such agility in their heavy armor. Of course, Kent was not particularly eager to find out the extent of their abilities by having a contest of strength with one, especially an excellent knight like Sir Oswin. He had scarcely walked ten paces, all the while still staring at Oswin, when he felt a strong blow to his front. An object of considerable area had slammed into his chest, knocking him flat onto his back. With swiftness that does credit to the Caelin knights, Kent simultaneously reached for his sword with his right hand, and tried to prop himself with his left—failing in both endeavors, for "a true knight does not ever sprawl onto his back in combat," Lord Wallace often admonished in words, and repeated in his _Manual of Knightly Prowess_.

Kent was still engaged in his struggle when a boy's voice—something akin to what he had heard in a St. Elimine choir—reached his ears. "Oh! Forgive me! I didn't think anyone was there! Murphy, stop flapping your wings!" Judging the owner of the voice to be not immediately hostile, Kent stopped his attempt at grasping his sword, thus succeeding somewhat more easily his other effort, although a firm though not particularly strong hand might have been the cause of the newfound ease.

"I'm... I'm fine," Kent stammered, his hand still clasping the one that helped him. He followed the hand, up the arm, and stopped briefly at the deep blue armor of the shoulder. His gaze finally beheld the girl—for it was a girl, despite his initial judgment as a result of her voice—who had helped him, both in his fall and in his recovery. She had blue hair of the same color as her armor; for a moment, Kent imagined that the rain had washed some of the colors from her hair, dying the armor beneath. It was cropped to a short length, adding to the illusion that she was a boy. Kent knew that it was not possible, for Pegasi only allowed women to ride them.

"I am Farina, member of the third division of Ilian Pegasus knights. Hector paid a pretty penny for my services. 20,000 gold," the energetic Pegasus knight said to Kent, while shaking his hand, a convenient follow up of the help she was obligated to lend to the knight.

"20,000? My, that's quite a sum..." Kent was taken aback by the sum; it dwarfed his annual retainer of 1500, spent mostly on maintenance of his horse and weapons, though he had no need to worry about lodging and rations for the most partly. It took him an unusually long, though still briefly, period of time to realize that he had opened by dwelling on her wages. He spoke quickly to mend the mistake. "Farina, excuse me for my rudeness. I am Kent, a knight of Caelin. Let us combine our strength, and ride on to victory in the service of our lord!"

It was Farina's turn to be taken aback. With a "Whoa!" she drew away from Kent, though the still clasping hands prevented her from distancing herself too much from the knight.

"W-What's the matter?" Kent asked with haste, fearing that he had offended her.

"You're just so... You're so serious, Kent! You don't think about anything but your duty!"

"...People often say that," Kent's voice was both dejected and surprised. The former feeling came from the fact that a stranger had spoken of his earnestness as a flaw after speaking to him for a few seconds. The latter came from her frankness rather than perceptiveness.

"I'm not so good with serious types..." Farina's voice became somewhat sheepish as she said this, for Kent's dismay hung clearly on his face for the world to see, if they were within sighting distance and cared to look in his direction. "I feel all cramped and choked when I'm around them..."

"I... I am sorry for that," the surprise had worn off by this point. Only the dejection remained.

"You see, my sister, she's really serious, like you. She'll jump all over your back for any little thing!" Farina explained, hoping to remove the offense that she thought she had done to Kent, whatever it might have been. "I wish she could just be a little nicer about it, you know?"

The remark about her sister recalled to Kent his brief conversations with Fiora and his briefer ones with Florina. Both mentioned having a sister, and Kent was sure that they mentioned her name as Farina. So this was their sister. The recognition was followed by an urge to defend Fiora. "I'm sure she only does it for your own good… She is such a..." Kent paused here to choose the right word as well as meditate upon the thought of her, "generous...woman."

"I knew it!" Farina's voice had abandoned the low tone with which she spoke a moment before. It was now a high-pitched voice tinged with accusation. "You guys are like peas in a high-strung pod! I just don't get along with people like you guys at all."

"I must... apologize for that as well," Kent replied. He was not sure whether he was apologizing for himself or on Fiora's behalf. His thoughts were on her when he turned in Sir Oswin direction. His moment of contemplation was cut short as he saw the Ostian knight waving his spear above him. It was the signal Piter chose for when the enemy had exhausted their ammunition. Kent and Farina mounted their steeds and charged forward, the rustling of bushes behind them telling them that the main body of the assault force was close behind.


	5. Chapter 5

Swoosh! The javelin, augmented by the diving wyvern's speed, flew by Kent with an audible whistling sound. Kent needed only a second to gauge the wyvern rider's path of flight. He drew his own javelin from his side, raised it, and threw the weapon at where he hoped the wyvern rider would be in the next moment. He was not disappointed. With a scream, the wyvern rider fell from his steed, Kent's dart protruding from his neck, half in the front, and half in the back. The wyvern, deprived of its rider, flew to the north to join the rest of its kind. Their heads were turned in the same direction as the fleeing wyvern. The royal wyvern riders were retreating beyond the palace.

Kent rode west, toward where he saw a gathering of the group. There were the three lords, Marcus, and the tactician. Upon seeing Kent's approach, Piter broke from the conversation and walked towards Kent. He signaled the knight to stop; Kent did so, and dismounted. The tactician handed Kent a sheet of paper, rolled into a scroll.

"You are to ride south, around the mountains, and give the units this order," Piter said, his voice never changing from the monotone of business. "You are to tell them that they will return to join us. Tell them that they are not to head east once they've come north of the mountains. We will be pursuing the enemy from the path west of the palace."

"Yes sir, but..." Kent hesitated to question Piter. The tactician did not like skepticism regarding his decisions. "Why not send Florina? She should be able to get there faster."

"Florina is with Lord Pent. She is being treated for her wounds in a scuffle with an enemy shaman. Apparently, the royal mages were issued a new sort of magic that could breach a Pegasus' natural resistance. I wouldn't dream of sending Sir Marcus," the tactician replied, giving a melodramatic emphasis on the word "dream." Abruptly, his haunting, entirely blue eyes turned downwards. "The useless old goat," the tactician muttered in an aside that was all too audible. Kent wondered if it was even meant to be an aside.

"Make haste," Piter waved his hand, signaling the end of his orders. Kent mounted his steed and rode westward, going around the mountains.

"Farina, Fiora, Heath, Isadora, Lowen, Prisiclla, Sain, a mobile shock force," Kent thought as he went over the names on the list of combatants Piter gave him. The mountains surrounding Bern's palace made the movement of anything not mounted on the nearly tireless steeds, winged or grounded, nearly impossible. "A formidable natural defense, and it serves Bern well. It is well that Bern has not yet made war on its neighbors," Kent thought grimly.

Presently, his steed strode past two fallen horses. The crest of the Black Fang showed clearly on the fallen knights' armors. Ahead of the two fallen knights, beyond a wall of shrubbery, came a steady rustling sound, mingled with some grunts. Kent reached for his lance, and pulled on the reins of his horse to signal it to slow. Steadily, with as little noise as the horse could manage, Kent approached the bush. When he was near the wall, he spurred his horse, and it galloped through the brushes, nearly colliding with a rotund stallion leisurely feeding on the grass. To the right of the stallion a square cloth was neatly spread. On it sat Lowen, carving a piece of ham. The grunts Kent heard had evidently been the young knight's attempt at severing a piece of the tough meat.

"You, and the rest of the forces, are ordered to join the forces to the north immediately, Sir Lowen," Kent said, his manner rather brusque, his mind agitated both by the anticipation of an enemy and Lowen's leisure. "Ride north after you have cleared the mountains. Do not go east to Bern's palace. We will gather to its west."

"Yes sir," the gluttonous knight made a surprisingly disciplined salute and began packing his picnic with speed that told of long practice. As he stuffed the piece of ham into his bag, he paused and looked to his left. He gave a quick shout. "Lady Isadora! We are ordered to group!"

Kent looked in the direction of Lowen's shout. Presently, the sound of hooves alerted him to a mounted knight's approach. A few seconds later, Isadora came into view, her sword still drawn, a weary alertness on her face. "Somebody, at least, is still vigilant," Kent left Lowen to pack, and Isadora to glare at him in impatience.

Kent's next find was not quite as unusually as his encounter with Lowen and Isadora. He happened upon Heath and Priscilla on the edge of a forest, both unusually pale. The former was engaged in an attempt to restore animation to the latter, which involved the exchange of breaths. Behind the two were their mounts: Priscilla's pony was standing in a manner of nonchalance, and the more intelligent wyvern, Kent thought, had what resembled a smug grin on its face.

"What happened here?" Kent asked before delivering Piter's orders.

By this time, Heath had passed the phase of alarm and gathered sufficient faculty to answer Kent's question without stammer, though still with a flush in the face. "I was just telling her a story of my former commander, and she passed out."

"I see. As soon as you are able, head west and then north. Keep going north, and you will meet with the rest of the army."

Having delivered the orders, and made sure that Heath understood that he was not to approach the palace, Kent still hesitated to go. An opportune gust told him that it was an unnecessary worry, for it was Farina alighting on the patch. Kent repeated Piter's orders to her and left the three. His last glance was of Heath and Farina in some exchange, and Priscilla's awakening.

Kent had entered the forest south of the outer mountain rim, and still he caught no sign of Sain or Fiora. His mind was just beginning to conjure up all sorts of ominous images—ranging from the two bound and dragged behind enemy steeds to Sain's elopement with a lovely Fang—when a muffled defiant echo reached his ears.

"I am always the very picture of health!" It was Sain's boastful voice.

"Enough of that! Just let me... Oh! Your forehead is burning! Have you been fighting like this all day?" Fiora's soft contralto answered in reproach. Still, Kent could not locate the two. His mind cursed the thick woods around him, which gave a muffled echo whenever a person spoke in great volume. He dismounted his destrier and tied it to a tree, hoping that he could locate the two better without the sound of hooves tramping the ground beneath him. He was not disappointed, for the voices grew louder and clearer.

"But... I have promised you. I must protect you!" Sain's jubilant tenor stayed Kent. A strange variant of curiosity yet foreign to Kent held him in place, waiting to hear the end of this conversation. Sain answered Fiora's question with the cavalier reply whose variants had become ordinary to Kent during their acquaintance, yet he perceived a tone of earnestness and anxiety he had seldom heard before in the familiar "It is the duty of all knights to protect woman! In the face of that duty this ailment is but a blush! ....." He was thus engaged in deciphering the exchange when a cry behind him roused him out of his reverie. A brigand, with a large steel axe in hand, rushed at him. Before Kent could draw his sword, his armor was stained with the dark red of blood. He stared stupidly at the slumping figure a moment before a piping voice drew him to his senses.

"Sheesh, Sir Heath was right. It was a good idea to go after you," Farina said. "What were you doing, zoning out like that anyway?"

"Ah... I..." Kent could find no reply.

"Lets go. We don't have all day."

With that, the Pegasus knight dragged Kent through the foliage behind which he hid to deliver the last of Piter's orders.


End file.
